


as long as its in my direction

by xpatxperience



Series: Lowmen, Wyoming [1]
Category: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain, Adventures of Tom Sawyer - Mark Twain
Genre: M/M, Priest AU, Western AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9830930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpatxperience/pseuds/xpatxperience
Summary: Huckleberry Finn was good at three things.1. Running2. Forgetting3. Making RaftsWhen someone finds him one thousand miles from where he dropped his past he discovers he won't be able to craft rafts out of his problems this time.





	1. Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> Time doesn’t really make sense in this fic because wyoming wasn't a state until like 1869 and the books take place in the 1830’s and everythings a hot mess but just role with it okay. I’m trying to give the people what they want.

   The town of Lowmen was settled in the middle of the great state of Wyoming. Just because it happened to be in the heart of the great dirt expanse of the west does not mean that it was a great town. Hell, it wasn’t even a good town. All it consisted of was a small main street that connected the roads to and from the town. This road was the most used because no travellers often stayed longer than the night. Off of the main road branched several domestic roads leading to the houses of the unfortunate people who lived in Lowmen. It was, all in all, a blink and you miss it town. And many people blinked as they went through.

  This unfortunate town was full of people to match the rotten atmosphere. Everyone from the baker down to the good samaritan school teacher was covered in dirt and troubles. Some came here to escape persecution, others execution. The brothel madam, Kat, (originally Katherine except no one called her that unless they wanted to start a fight) built the first building after killing her third husband and receiving his fortune. It was in this saloon slash brothel slash hotel that Huckleberry Finn currently found himself serving a third pint of strong wheat beer to the country sheriff. Said sheriff was attempting to forget the intricate pattern of brains that came from a shootout with an outlaw. 

   How Huckleberry Finn, now permanently called just Huck, came to the town of Lowman was a long tale that could be another story in itself. And the only people who truly knew it was Huck himself and Madam Kat who offered him a job after Huck landed a knockout punch to one man harassing her girls. In exchange for work, she offered him someplace to sleep a good enough salary to eat more than just fish and bread. So after several years of growing up and venturing west, Huck Finn decided to stop. It was a good system. Sure, it was far from a perfect life. The dust would cause what future doctor would call  _ cancer  _ and the average lifespan was thirty-five due to the less than excellent dietary practices and fights that broke out every Thursday. But it was good enough, so the days passed away and soon Huck Finn was just another permanent resident of Lowman, Wyoming. 

    However, the universe couldn’t have Huck living even an adequate life for longer than a couple of months so today it had in store for him what future writers would call _ a blast from the past.  _ Not that Huck was having a particularly good time cleaning glasses for the seventh time that hour due to the dirt that swept in every time the double doors swung open; it came in and laid out onto countertops and stools, making itself at home among the residents and being a nuisance to them just like the sun was when it shown to bright or their shipments of fruit and how everything came out tasting slightly acidic. But putting up with the god damn dirt was something he had come accustomed to over the three years. Dealing with anything that came from Missouri was not. 

   Which is why when one of the prostitutes, named Felony Katie for a good reason, comes in from the town meeting and announces that the new visitors they had been expecting were, 

    “Just a couple of western bound pastors from St. Peterburg, Missouri. They’re headin’ to Washington or something to oversee something about a bishop. One was old as this here dirt, named Satchel Bens or somthin’. Other one really young, kinda good lookin'. Said name was Thomas Sawyer.”

     Huck quietly sets down the glass he just finished cleaning (and will have to clean again in seven minutes) and excuses himself into the back and does not show any signs of panic. If anyone thinks that hiding in the dry storage room of a bar between a three-gallon tub of beans and a year's supply of dried meats while deep breathing is panicking than they can go fuck a horse. He rations to himself that there is no need to worry. There are plenty of Thomas Sawyers in the state of Missouri. Hell, Thomas is probably one of the most common names in the whole great United States. Plus, even if it is  _ the  _ Thomas Sawyer there is no way that he could recognise Huck now. It’s been five years. Huck was a boy of fifteen when he ran away from providence and poverty and was now going on twenty years on this Earth. He had grown about a foot to prove it as well. His hair no longer curled around his ears and was constantly matted down by sweat and dirt but grew out and fell lightly on his shoulders. He was  _ an adult _ God dammit why should some lov-  _ person  _ from his past make him anything less.

  An adult was not what Madam Katherine found on the floor of the dry storage when she came looking to see where her bartender had gone. Though the town hall was the official ‘meeting place’ everyone knew it was at the saloon where real decisions were made and there was nothing worse than sober coal miners. 

   “What the fuck are you doin’ on the floor?” Madam Kat asked standing in the entryway. “If you're drunk or sick, walk it off. Some Jesus boys showed up today and I bet Harold and Conrad can wait to start bitchin’ about it.” She looked down at him with a slight squint in her eyes. “Boy, you're sickly pale what’s the matter with you? I know you're adverse to the whole religion thing but-” Huck grabs her by the wrist and pulls her into the dry storage room quickly shushing her.  “What is the matter with you! Have you-” Huck cuts her off again, eyes scanting towards the door. 

   “Did you go down to see those church men arrive?” The Madam crosses her arms over her large body and nods curtly. Huck continues, “I know you must think I’m possessed but I need you to tell me what they looked like.” He glances back through the doorway nervously. “Please. It’s real important.” Kat just rolls her eyes and pretend that this is the craziest thing she has witnessed, which it’s not, and tells him,

  “If it were anybody but you Huck I’d think they’d lost it. I’m not sure what you want but one was real old and crusty lookin'. Kinda like the old tailor man before he died of cholera.” 

   “And the other one?” Huck asks her impatiently, his muscles now nervously twitching. Every nerve in his body is listening to what Kat will say next.

   “Patience boy I’m getting there! Let a woman think.” She narrows her eyes like she’s thinking really hard about something. “Got this golden brown hair and freckles. Would come up to about your chin. Real dangerous looking thing. Wouldn’t peg him as the preachin’ type. Got a mouth like a whip if you ask me. All the girl fawning over him and he just cracks a laugh like it's some joke of another.” 

   And it’s those words that make Huck Finn freeze up and be sent back into his memories to when he was just Huckleberry Finn.


	2. Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by that one guest who left a comment.   
> (If you want this to come out faster leave comments. 1780% proven to increase productivity.)

    "For the last time, Nancy! I'm tellin’ ya. Stop throwin’ a fit, it's an old superstition! You're not going to end it alone.” It was early autumn in St. Petersburg, Missouri. The leaves were crackling under foot like the fires in the townspeople's homes and the matched the flames colour as they drifted to the dirt floor. The forest has become quiet as predator and prey alike prepared for the bitter frost ahead. The children, who just turned ten, were starting their third year of education at the worn schoolhouse and were not yet weighed down by school work and still held the life of summer in their chests.

    Yet Nancy Dubshire’s cries rose over all of this and slashed through the crisp air cutting the blissful scene in half.

   “It. Is. NOT. Going. To. Be. Just. FINE!” She hollered in response. Salty tears streamed down her face, covering her cheeks and her chest was oscillating as such frequency Huck was afraid her lungs might pierce through her skin and fall out onto the ground. Huck was absolutely astounded by the sheer despair Nancy was going through. Nothing in his fifteen years of life had prepared him for comforting a bawling girl on the stairs of the school. Yet, when he found her, there were no feminine persons around to help console her so he took it as his ‘good Christian duty’ to help her. And by help, he meant sit here and repeat the same reassurances over and over again. 

   “I’m cursed for life I tell ya! Cursed!” She wailed. “You all saw what happened!” She cried out throwing her hands into the air as if the devil himself had insulted her.

   “What happened?” A voice said behind them. Huck whipped his head around desperately hoping for someone more qualified to take up his post. What he got was Tom Sawyer. Huck was torn between warning his friend of the impending sniffling cries of Nancy and not wanting to be left alone to deal with them. Since the question was already asked Huck answered, 

    “Florance swept over Nancy’s feet when they be dustin’ the school floors.” He said choosing his words carefully. 

    “Florance did it on purpose! Just because I asked Charlie to the fall festival she wanted to curse me to a life of-”, she took an especially deep gulp of air, “being a spinster and loneliness!”  Huck rubbed his hands over his face. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this.

    “I don’t see the problem. What’s so bad about sweepin’?” Tom asked taking a seat on the other side on Nancy. “Surely a little dust on your shoes won’t be tainting your beautiful spirit?” He smiled easy at her as if they were just discussing the weather. 

    “Tom Sawyer, don’t you know anything? If someone sweeps over your feet while you're an unmarried women it means you're never gonna get married.” As if realising her spinster fate for the first time she burst into another set of tears and buried her face in her hands. 

    “Nancy, I’m tellin’ you! There is no superstition nowhere that says that!” Huck cries out. He’s heard of a lot of superstitions in his days. A bird flying into your house means death for sure and if you drop a fork you’ll have company unless you polish it. And those should be respected because they’re true. But dusting over your feet? That's got to be some old wives tale. 

    “Oh Nancy, stop your bawlin’. Everybody knows that all a persons got to do after dusting over their feet is to dunk their shoes in some hot water.” The lie is so convincing that Huck believes him for a second. Nancy’s head shoots up like a bullet fired from a gun. She stares at Tom with wide tearful eyes and asks,

   “Really? Is that true?” She tames back her eagerness and suspicion floods into her face. “You’re not just sayin that are you Tom Sawyer. This ain’t no laughing matter.” 

    He stood up and offered a hand out the Nancy. “Would I lie to a girl like you? Everybody knows you’re gonna be the first married out of all of us. If anyone should be cryin’ it's Finn here.” He jutted his thumb out toward Huck as if to emphasise the point. “He’s probably dusted over his feet a hundred times with how useless he is.” Nancy looks over to Huck and nods solemnly as if she’s thinking real hard about how pathetic Huck’s chances are of getting married and as long as it gets her crying form away from him, Huck is perfectly happy to embrace his dirt covered hands and greasy hair. 

   “Now you better get going. It’s got to happen before Florance gets done sweepin’ inside.” Tom concludes helping Nancy to her feet. Nancy nods and wipes away the last of her tears.

   “Thank you Tom Sawyer. I’m sure one day you are gonna make some girl the happiest woman in Missouri.” She pulled him into a rib crushing hug before taking over down the road at brisk yet still ladylike pace. Tom waves at her retreating form before sitting down next to Huck with a content sigh. 

   “I’m not ever surprised anymore Tom. I can’t even lie and say I’m surprised anymore.” Huck says staring at the retreating form of Nancy Dubshire. “That was mighty impressive though.” Tom scoffs and shoves Huck with his hand. 

   “That wasn’t even close to my best work and we both know it.” Tom responds shaking his head.

   “I’m serious.” Huck proclaims. “I was sitting here for a good ten minutes and she was just cryin’ and cryin’ and cryin’. If the Mississipi ever goes dry we just tell Nancy she won’t be gettin’ married and it will be flownin’ in no time at all.” 

   “Girls care about those sort of things Finn.” He says this like he’s a connoisseur of relationships and not a fifteen-year-old who falls in love with every blonde haired girl he lays eyes on. “You’d know that if you ever spent time with them.”

   “I swear I will  _ never  _ understand girls, as long as I live on this Earth.” Huck complained throwing his head back and encompassing all of his frustration into a single groan. “Nothin’ they do makes sense! Like Liberty was talkin’ all about her new hair ribbons.  _ Hair Ribbons _ Tom. How am I supposed to talk to some girl bout fancy string that goes into your hair?” 

   “You don’t get anythin’ that doesn’t come out of that forest Huck.” Tom rebukes. “It takes a real personal connection to understand girls you see. You gotta’ give em’ time.” 

   “Says the boy who was ‘engaged’,” Huck puts quotes the word to further the insult, “twice in one year.” As soon as the words leave Huck’s mouth Tom is giving him a killing glance. 

   “Well if you came to school more than once a month,” Tom snarks “you would know that ‘It is better to have loved and lost than to never loved at all’.” 

They both burst out into fits of laughter. It’s a comfortable feeling, like putting on a good pair of trousers after sitting in church for three hours. 

   “Why can’t girls be more like you Tom?” Huck sighs out. Never had he felt so drained of life than when talking to… anybody really. People exhausted Huckleberry Finn. With their complex words and unseen intentions, it was like trying to pull water from a river with your bare hands. It just left him frustrated and cold. But his friendship with Tom was always the simplest thing in his life. There were few things Huck could count on to be stable in his life - not even his next meal was guaranteed, but if there was one thing he understood in this world of civil manners and rules it was how to talk, to be with Tom Sawyer.

   “What do you mean by that?” Tom gasps, his words laced with a faux offence. “What could possibly be so wrong with girls?” Huck shoots him a look that he hopes encapsulates  _ what isn’t wrong with girls _ .

   “When I'm with you it’s so easy. I don’t have to worry if I’m gonna’ insult your ‘ _ delicate constitution _ ’ or any nonsense like that.”

   “I’ll tell you what Finn.” Tom said, trying to control his fits of laughter. “Why don’t we just stay together then. Swear off good for nothing girls altogether.” 

   “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard Tom.” Huck said rolling his eyes. “Nobody, no how, ever does that.”

   “Think about it Finn. Would it really be that strange of an idea? And even if it was, you're not someone to shy away from a new adventure.” Tom’s smile slid across his face and happiness leaked into his eyes as thoughts started to tumble around inside that dangerous head of his. “There is nobody I’d rather spend a life  of adventure with than you Huck Finn.” 

\--

   “Have you been bewitched boy?” Kat’s words break through the scene that has just finished playing before Huck’s eyes. His mind is flung a thousand miles back to the present time and place, jolting his consciousness and bruising his thoughts. 

   “No ma’am. I was just…” Huck tries to think of a sensible way to describe what just occurred. How does one depict events that occurred only to you? The memory came and went leaving no physical trace on Huck’s body but took with it part of his mind. ‘...remembering something.” He whispers. He clears his throat and brushes dust off of his pants. “That’s all. Many thanks Kat. I am mighty sorry for the frightful behaviour.” He says this as he swallows his anxiety and banishes it to a dark pit in his stomach. 

   “No thanks needed boy.” She says clapping him on the back. “I’ve seen plenty stranger things in my days.” She gives him an Earth shattering smile. One that won over the even most hostile of drunkards in its prime days. Without so much as another word from either of them on the subject matter, the double doors of the saloon slide open and a gaggle of people throw themselves into the building. Everyone is talking at the same time and their voices rise up to the ceiling like heat and seem to drench the room in inaudible chatter. 

   “Did you see them?” Whispers Jane Connelly to her husband.

   “Never had their short round her before.” The sheep herder said to their neighbour. 

   “Wonder how long they’ll be lurking here.” Tayen Donner said to the Sheriff.

Of course, none of these words were distinguishable to Huck Finn, who had been pulled out of the dry storage by the commotion, and all just sounded like one giant collaborative commotion. Huck pulls himself up to the counter and started mechanically wiping dust off glasses. His mind was a separate entity from his body in this moment. Any moment now two pastors would walk through the door and Huck wasn’t sure which outcome he feared more. He was registering men’s orders and pulling taps without his mind ever hearing their words as the only thing he could focus on was the brown doors and every time they slid open a year of his life was taken. Then without any warning, without a sign or even mumble from the universe to prepare Huck Finn, two people stepped into a bar they had never entered before and were added to a crowd of people they both thought were all unfamiliar faces. Their all black clothing designates them as the pariahs of the group. Huck sees them both look around, absorbing the boisterous activity. As the younger one's eyes move around the room, taking everything in, they suddenly stop on the man behind the bar. 

Time didn’t freeze. The chatter didn’t stop. The room didn’t go silent. The crowd didn’t part.

They make eye contact from across the room and Huck, who would know that face in death, does not let the recognition show on his face. 


	3. Wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I T ‘ S B E E N E I G H T Y F O U R Y E A R S. Sorry this is three decades late.. Sometimes life just comes up and punches you in the face ya know!!!

   Huck Finn knew what he was good at. He knew what he was good at and he stuck to it. He didn’t pretend to know how to map the stars or how the United States government worked.He hasn’t the slightest how taxes made things better or how a bullet is fired from a gun. They just happen and Huck accepts them. He’d leave the engineering of those things to people more intelligent and all around more interested to handle the subjects. But if there was one thing Huck would bet his name on his ability to execute -- it was ignoring his problems.

    You see, over the course of the twenty times he’s had to travel around a ball of fire, he’s learned that if you don’t want to deal with something, chances are if you just leave it alone then other people will start arguing over how to solve it and one can just slip away in the commotion. This strategy had served Huck well, allowing him to escape from his father, from the church, from civilization, from Missouri, all the way to the dirt strewn plains of Wyoming where nothing from the past could ever touch him again. Or so he thought.

    However, this time there was just one problem that threw a hell of a wrench into his plans. Nobody knew. Absolutely nobody knew about the problem the currently plagued him. Huck hadn’t so much as spoken a syllable about anything: his father, the widow, the fortune he left behind, Jim, the river, his cross state journey then his cross country journey, all of it was left in obscurity when he crossed the Missouri state line. And Tom? If Huck had thought tell anyone from Lowman about that son of a bitch he might not be in this situation. If anyone knew who they had invited into their humble abode he’s sure they would send him out just as quick. Though the people of Lowman might be dirt poor, though not poor in dirt, they were a people who stuck together through all the strive that the outside world tries to throw at them. It was an unspoken commandment that permeated throughout the town. One was expected to help thy neighbor because you bet your ass there is gong to come a time when you need their help. There wasn’t the luxury of disliking people in a place this small. So Huck was mighty sure that if he had ever breathed the edge of a word about his past to anyone, and how it was currently talking to the Sheriff in the back corner, he would have the commotion he needed to take what little he had and run. 

    But Huck hadn’t thought his past would ride up on a sunny June afternoon and thus had told nobody about his sudden departure from his home and the plethora of reasons behind it. Which is why he is suddenly  _ very interested  _ in what Mrs.Copperfield has to say about her daughter marrying some businessmen three towns over and definitely not paying rigorous attention to the men dressed in black sat in the back corner. He’s counted six different escapes, three possible with fire, two main exits, and even considered just slicing his hand open so he can slip out to see the doctor. Knowing Kat however, she would probably tell him to rub some dirt in it and grow a pain tolerance. 

    The town people have settled into their easy routine, allowing their way of life to sweep thoughts aside and the autopilot of their mind take over. There are sounds of indiscreet whispers from man to woman as many disappear up the old wooden staircase seeking more private areas to spend the nights with close company. Huck had never once dragged a lover up those stairs and thus only assumes that’s what the people were doing. He supposes now that they could just be playing an extremely… rigorous game of cards or something. These are the thoughts Huck’s mind wanders to while Mrs. Copperfield rambles on about wedding dresses and dowries. It was during this sudden drop of Huck’s rigorous attention to the back table that the man in all black parted ways from the Sheriff and made his way though the tables of patrons to the front where they took a seat at the stool furthest on the right. He sat there in obscurity, his identity unnoticed by the bartender.

    “Which is why I told them they shouldn’t get married in July. It is far too hot.” Mr. Copperfield prattles on. Huck gives her a tight smile and switches his attention to whoever took a seat on the right. He absent mindedly grabs a glass from under the counter and turns over to ask what they are interested. His eyes manage to process faster than the words can get out of his mouth as he chokes on them when he realise just what is befalling upon him. His insides shift into a higher gear and in that moment he swears he can hear other people's thoughts. The air stops right in his lungs and sits there, probably thinking something along the lines of ‘ _ What you gonna do now Huck _ ?’ 

    Well, Huck having perfected the art of using his lexicon to manipulate others lets out a noise that is a cross between someone throwing up and a cat dying before turning around as nonchalantly as he could and just starts grabbing glasses off tables. The whole interaction took place in the moment it took someone to blink, but to Huck it felt to stretch out for his entire life. His mind has left his body and forces his hands to function on their own. They have chosen to see just how many glasses he needs to carry in order for him to display the cultural signs of ‘don't talk to me’. 

    “I mean- Andrew Johnson? What can he even do for this country. Look at the state of it. You’ve got Southerners rioting and he’s doing nothing to stop it.” Hue, one of the more rowdy miners this town has to offer, says in a particularly loud voice. 

     “And they should be.” David shouts back, drawing a line of conversation from his seat at a table to Hue’s perch at the bar. “Look what America’s done for them. Stolen away their freedom and replaced it with,” he struggles for a moment, “this government. Damn right we need a new president. We need good old Andrew Jackson.” His declaration get a few hearty cheers as well as some disapproving looks from the more educated patrons. 

    “They were going against the Christian way of this country.” Hue retaliates. “Owning another man is a sin against God and we all know it.” He pauses to look around the room, as if expecting anyone to object. Huck slowly sets down glasses into a basin of water trying not to disrupt the sudden quiet that has fallen over the room.

    “Those ain’t people. Hue. You’ve been in those coal mines too long.” David sneers. “Meanwhile, my father gave his life for the great state of Georgia because he was an upright citizen.”

    “Then he gave his life for a worthless cause.” Hue flippantly tell him. “Not my fault your old man chose to fight against God.” 

    David stands from his place at the table. The beer on the tables freezes over with the cold that permeates out of syllables that hit the air.  “There is not a word in God’s book that says anything of the sort and,” he attempts his best to impersonate the other man, “we all know it.” Huck’s hand pauses from washing glasses to focus on the brawl brewing in front of him. David inches closer, spine perfectly straight and chin jutted out. “You can even ask preacher man over there and I’m sure as ever he’d tell you the same. All of em’ need to be whipped and put right back to work in the fields.”

     Huck’s body moves before he can even think his actions though. One moment he is looking at David with years of practice hiding his anger under a sharp mask of apathy and the next his eyes slide across the bar to the patron in black. Their eyes meet directly nobody except them would be able to understand the conversation they had. No words came out of there mouth and no sounds were heard, yet they knew exactly what they were thinking in that moment. It’s an old habit that hasn’t managed to kick the bucket quite yet. He seems to hold him with his eyes, as if it is possible to reach out and touch someone's hand with a look alone, he did so in that moment. I lasts a moment, then is gone. 

    Huck whips his head away as if those blue eyes had burned him. He chastises himself, curling his hands into tight ball, so much so he almost breaks the skin on his palms. He can’t do that anymore. He lost that privilege along with his old identity when he left Missouri in all of its mosquito infested glory behind him. But for just a moment, because a moments all he has, he lets himself indulge in the memory. 

_ It’s some undescriptive summer. The scenery is laced with fog as Huck is unable to render what Missouri looked like. Were the trees white or brown? Everything is washed away by time, yet his own voice cuts through the mist.  _

_ “How come you always look at me whenever someone says something like that?” Huck asks. It’s not that he's self conscious or anything. He’s just a curious boy asking a curious question. There’s got to be a meaning behind it and for all he knows Tom is trying to invent some kind of secret code he's supposed to  ‘just figure out’.  _

_      “Say’s something like what?” Tom asks throwing a stone with more force than necessary into the river. It hits the water with a crack and sinks straight down _

_      “You’re not dumb Sawyer. You know, like when Mr. Carden said he could pursue any woman he wanted.” Huck responds.   _

__ _  “Well Finn, I suppose I should ask the same question. Why you looking over at me?” Tom responds with a smug grin plastered across his face. Only this boy would turn this simple of a question into a wild chase. _

_      “I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the moment.” Huck answers with a shrug. He was going to drop this whole thing if Tom was going to be weird about it.  _

_     Tom sighs and answers, “Because not two breaths later got rejected by Miss Sally.” He says this as if it's the easiest question in the world. “I’m just making sure you are seen the same stupidity. That’s all.” Silence falls then and they go back to fishing without another word.  _

    Huck is pulled back from the short scene by a voice breaking through the ocean of noise. The devious southern drawl slices through the air as Tom speaks, “If you never thought the Bible spoke of it, then one must wonder why such a fight was started. After all, war not in the pursuit of justice and God is a God forsaken war.” 

     The words in and of themselves are harmless. It is how they find their way out of Tom’s mouth and into the open air which makes them sting. Tom has always had the uncanny ability to convey just what he thought of you not with his words -- but in them. Which is why Atticus proceeds to turn around and stare at Tom with an all encapsulating look of disbelief. Now nobody might really like David all that much, but Huck is pretty sure everyone's thoughts vary on the sentence, ‘Hey David is our dipshit. Only we can pick on him.’ 

     “Are you sayin’ that my father’s a sinner for fighting” David’s voice is hard yet Tom still looks unfazed by the whole conversation. 

    “Did those words leave my mouth?” Tom asks. “Or does something rest on your soul to twist my words?” His face contorts into a mask of parental concern that only Huck can identify as one of pure mocking as well. 

    “Nothing rests in my soul but the love I have for this country.” David’s words are iron cast as he tries more to convince the townsfolk than Tom of his strong will.

    “And nothing rests in my soul but the love I have for God.” Tom replies with an unfriendly smile. “It might do you well to let God guide you instead.” With that he turns back and faces away from the waring man.

    The sound of the glass sliding over the wooden counter top is the loudest sound Huck has ever heard. The drag speaks louder than any words that could have come from David’s brain. As the glass stops next to Tom’s elbow, the room goes into a state of pin drop silence. Nobody moves, nobody speaks, nobody breathes and Huck is sure that his internal organs have stopped functioning. 

   “Let’s see which is stronger love of country… or love of God.” David continues to smirk, thoughts already swirling around tieing together ideas of how he will replay this moment to whore after whore for the rest of his uneventful life. His sneer hasn’t even had time to move into the empty spot on his face when Tom responds.

   He takes the glass with one hand, leisure dripping from his every movement, nods towards David and then knocks it back, absolutely knowing what he was getting himself into. Huck was pulled between putting an end to this before it even started, but from the shocked murmurs that went through the crowd of people, he would be forced to see this though.

  And see it through he did.


	4. Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i thought i was dead too

     Huck knows in his heart that this night was no longer than the ones that passed before it and will be no longer than ones to come next, but it sure as hell did not feel that way. The darkness seemed to set into his bones and take residence there. The clock that hangs above the entrance of the bar stares at him blankly, almost pointedly refusing to move, making him suffer through every single moment of the excursion that played before him. 

   What played out was this. At approximately eleven twenty three at night Thomas Sawyer walked into the Echo Saloon, owned by widow Kat, and exactly seventy three minutes later he had inadvertently insulted one of the most wound up, bad tempered, and all around haughty men all across the plains of Wyoming.

   Fourteen seconds after the ‘accidental’ insulting Tom found himself being challenged in the only way Wyoming men knew how. By flooding their bodies with beer to prove something about their masculinity in a way that future psychologist would call  _ alcoholism. _ Across the span of forty three minutes and thirty nine seconds David Chesterfield, a thirty year old miner from Lewiston, Idaho consumed nine hundred and forty six milliliters of liquor and Thomas Sawyer, a twenty year old preacher from St. Petersburg, Missouri; went shot to shot with him. 

   And Huckleberry Finn, who was trying to forget he was from St. Petersburg, Missouri; had the esteem pleasure of pouring every single milliliter of that liquor. 

   When the tantalizing forty three minutes and thirty nine seconds ended with the realization there was something more about the man in the black pastoral clothing than meets the eye, a cheer erupted from the towns folk, who would not have missed this for the world, that measured in eighty five decibels and was the loudest noise in the entire state of Wyoming for that day. 

   The people of Lowman, Wyoming then added one more person to their unofficial population count as they performed the ceremonials of congratulating a new member of their broken down town,. Which is to say they cheered, clapped the man in black on the back, proclaimed him a man (because the credentials for being a man are not yet to be swift as a raging river), then slunk out of the building with their minds on being in their beds and the feeling that only comes from a good night of being straight up unconscious. When the crowd slowly dissipated through the exit, the bar that once held an entire city seems to be barren, except for those who seem to have been neutralized by the oldest of grains and now find themselves melded to the bar counters in a state that, even now, is called  _ blackout drunk.  _

   And for the first time in his career as a living person, Huck Finn wonders if he too should solve his problems with alcohol. The thought enters into his brain quickly and he dismisses it even quicker. He would rather scrub his brain with bleach than entertain that thought and the fact that he would even conceive such a scenario adds a small drop to the lake of reasons why Huck loathes himself. He blames it on the lateness of the night, on the events that unfolded, on the stars in the sky, on the cut of the wooden table, on the dirt on the floor, on everything except himself, as he moves around doing actions that have been built into his primary function by now as he closes down. Technically, the bar is opened night and day but given the mass exodus, Huck doubts that many will be back until morning. He walks the drunks up the stairs, a skill he is most proud of, and into beds. Lastly, he takes the basin of water out from under the counter and exits into the cold nighttime air and throws it onto the dirt road creating a murky mud spatter pattern in the arid dust. 

   The dirt floats through the air, swirling like smoke into Huck’s lungs making him cough. It’s a cheap imitation of the consumptives that seem to line the streets in the colder months.

   “I’ve heard it said that consumption can be cured with mountain air.” 

  It’s spoken directly to his right. Huck doesn’t have to glance over to know who it is. Huck bites his jaw down and forces all of his brain to focus on crafting a sentence that would even attempt to convey everything he needed to say in that moment. He could see the words forming before his eyes when all of a sudden his mind goes numb. 

   Because Tom smiles and  _ God  _ if that doesn’t just kill all words he had. Huck knew he had a problem. He knew it the moment they met and Tom Sawyer would smile and Huck would do anything for him. He knew it then and he hoped that time would rot that part of him away. The way his muscles formed around his mouth was a weapon. It made you feel special. It was woven of lies and you could see it, but you indulged yourself because you would want it to be meant for you, so badly, that you would give yourself the benefit of the doubt.

   Huck stopped giving people the benefit of the doubt a long time ago. 

   “Why don’t you go…” He couldn’t say home, because that was the wrong word. Home was a literal thousand miles away, “-back to your old preacher. I’m sure he’s wondering about you by now.” It was the late hours of the night, and at these hours Tom could be up to nothing but trouble at this point.  

    “Apparently the Lord hasn’t been kind to your brain if you’re that stupid. I’ll make sure to pray for you.” Tom’s responds, seriously giving Huck a look of concerned furled eyebrows and squinted eyes. Huck doesn’t say anything in response to that. After all, what does one say when they are insulted by someone who they… once knew, who then walked into their place of work, proved something to the town, and probably themselves, by drinking their weight in liquor. Huck had seen what that type of thinking did to people. “He would probably send me out to die in the desert if he knew what I just did.” Tom speaks quietly, as if the truth can only be whispered. 

    “You sure learned how to drink.” Huck says, breaking the silence. That’s all he seems to be able to do. Smash apart quiet with his words that seem way too loud. “Not sure I want to know how.” There’s a moment of silence. They both know what he really said with that sentence. “Ain’t gluttony a sin anyway?”

     “I learned how to read people.” Tom corrects him. “Listening to people talk about their unholy actions for the better part of each day makes you see that everyone who walks this Earth has the exact same problems. From the rich to the poor. Makes a really good base for learning how to make people think you are someone you aint,” he laughs, “not sure if that’s a better sin than gluttony.” The answer was skilfully crafted to dodge the question. It threw Huck off for a moment, he had forgotten just how slick Tom Sawyer really was, that not even church could take that from him, that your lexicon does not count as a worldly possession that is to be given to God.

   “Listening to people talk about their problems doesn’t make you able to hold liquor. I know that better than anyone.” Huck responds. 

   “I haven’t so much as looked at alcohol in five years. When the sun rises in the morning I will wish I was dead.” Tom says this with such naturality and poise that it makes Huck wonder if honor fighting is something Tom does regularly. 

   “Same.” Is all Huck says.

   “Same in what?” Tom asks, clearly confused. Though in his state of intoxication, everything probably confuses him. “You thinking about killing yourself? That’s a sin you know. Exodus 20:13.” 

   “I haven’t ever drank.” Huck corrects himself. This conversation is slowly climbing up to the top spot of most painful conversations he has ever had. 

    “You work in a bar.” Tom says plainly. “That is the funniest thing I have ever heard.” He starts laughing a loud and uncontrollable laughter that permeates throughout the night. “Wait, I correct myself. A boy raised by a drunk himself now works in a bar is the funniest thing I have ever heard. When you ran all those years ago I figured you would put liquor as far behind you as Missouri.” Huck is silent. The proper words to respond to the acknowledgment of their past fail him in this moment and he is left to leave the confession hanging about them like an unwanted guest. Tom picks up where Huck can not,

    “Are we still pretending we don't know each other?” The words are so blunt they almost make Huck flinch. “Because if you want, we can just pretend that everything between us just-” he stops himself, unable to continue. 

    “You’ve done a lot of pretending before. I’m sure you could handle it.” Huck informs Tom, memories of their escapades suddenly fresh in his mind. 

    “So you're the only one who can move on from their past?” Tom question suddenly sending the conversation to somewhere Huck does not want it to go. “I remember a time when you wanted nothing more but for me to grow up, get with the real world. Well, here I am a full civilized Christian.” He lets out a laugh that seem entirely out of place. “Everything you wanted to never see again.” Tom says quietly, just loud enough for Huck to hear. 

    They sit there like that. Closer in proximity than they had been since childhood but still thousands of miles apart. In the dead of night on the front porch of a dying saloon in the heart of a vast expanse of dirt someone decided to name Wyoming they let the silence fall over them like the dirt that settled across the expanse that stretched out and touched the horizon. 

   They sat there, wrapped in each other's presence until the slivers of orange began to crawl across the horizon line .Before the morning can make its presence known, the town is awakened by a loud shout that seems to come from farther down the street.

   “You better start locking your windows because I know where you live and I own a gun!”

   “Everyone owns a gun Lawrence! And I’ll leave my door unlocked! Feel free to come face me if you ever get the balls!’ 

This is followed by a series of gunshots. 

   Tom looks over at him, saying everything with his raised eyebrows. Huck stands slowly, glancing down to make sure that Mr. Patterson isn’t dead in the street, then he extends his hand out. Tom takes it, letting himself be pulling to his feet.

  As they stand looking out onto the chaos Huck speaks.

  ‘Welcome to Lowman, Tom.” 


	5. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly for grasscam on tumblr (who got me out of my cryptid state) however this is also for all the juniors in the united states. Have fun reading huck finn after reading this.

    Time was not something Lowman was good at keeping track of yet. Trains had yet to cross the United States laying the whispers of  _ manifest destiny _ behind them as well as the much more solid innovation of time zones. And while clocks had their solidified place in each building and home, they were much like fine china; put away out of mind until needed to be brought out and dusted off in times of great affluence. Therefore the days that passed in the next week were ones that were not recorded well. They all took place, of course, but what occurred on them, or in what order, was widely disputed with no way of resolution.

    The church however, was  _ very _ good at keeping time. They had hard deadlines to meet after all. People to convert, churches to build, Jesus to spread. Therefore as the sun roles it’s light onto Lowman for the twenty seventh time that month, it marks the last day Thomas Sawyer, the one indeed from Missouri, will spend in Lowman, Wyoming. And that is what Huck Finn, formerly of Missouri, is painfully aware of as he watches the light crash through his small bedroom window located above the bar which will soon be teeming with life. 

    This revelation wasn’t anything  _ new  _ to Huck in this moment. The information had been carried with him throughout the couple of days, but it had been pushed away from the forefront of his mind, mostly due to Huck’s own affinity with denial and the aforementioned skill at running away from his problems. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind where he stored all of his most delicate thoughts, was the one that maybe if he never gave it any attention then it just… wouldn’t happen. Of course Huck knew better than anybody this was a flawed method, but old habits die hard, as people had just began to say, therefore as he dressed for the day and made his way from the old stairs which creaked underneath his weight he tried to keep nothing but the thoughts of what needed to be done  _ in this moment _ in the forefront of his mind.

    Which is how he ended up wiping down the same table for five and a half minutes; because he was  _ not  _ thinking about what he wanted to say to his… what he still thought of a childhood best friend - as he probably disappeared for the rest of his living experience. Huck had never done well with diction and as he went through his lexicon scanning for the right words to use, it seemed he had none to describe the emotions that had been residing inside of him all this time. 

    So needless to say, his ability to work was reaching a catastrophic low point. 

    It seemed all of his inadequacies were compounding together to create one vast weakness that crippled him in this moment. As the daylight melted away and the hours ticked closer to the moment he would have to confront Tom with some sort of profound sediment expression he found him realizing just how incapable he was at crafting something that didn’t seem like a twisted lie. It was a compulsive action, his brain warping every heartfelt thing, that seemed to come from a muscle memory of a caste iron skillet cracking into his rib cage. But no matter how hard his brain was found to only be grasping at air, he knew that this was interference on a grander scale than he would care to acknowledge in this moment. God was dead in his eyes, but there was a capital S, Something out there that caused this meeting to happen. And Huck knew he couldn’t run away from an interference like that. 

   Which is how Huck Finn found himself about to enter the first conversation he would have since crossing the Missouri border that wouldn’t start with lies and deceit. And if he had to be honest, the feeling that was building inside of him was not what he would label, pleasant. Luckily, or unluckily - depending on your moral alignment, just as Huck found the energy inside of himself to venture out to find the person who he needed to talk to was the exact same time the first shift of the miners found themselves free of work long enough to wander into town in search of something else to occupy their time. Thus, caused  the first glitch in Huck’s masterful attempt to totally face his problems for probably only the second time in his life. It’s what future teenagers of the world, and Christians of the industrial revolution call,  _ procrastination.  _ He said he’d going during his mid day break, then during his midday break he’d said he go during the afternoon lull. When that rolled around he figured he might as well wait until closing. Then as the darkness settled on Lowman, Huck Finn figured it was just too late to make any social calls justified. No respectable person could show up to someone’s house at two in the morning. Huck loved to abide to the rules of society when it meant getting out of things he didn’t want to do. But that small part of Huck that has always know him best, asks him as the first silence hits the bar all day, that maybe this is what was always going to happen. After all, was he  _ really  _ capable of handling something like this? He’d never shown the capacity before, now had he? What makes him think that this time he could actually stand up for himself and what he wanted? The fact that he had a job? No. He was always going to end up here; alone and weak, because that’s all his father ever raised. 

    These are the thoughts that Huck is thinking as Madam Kat descends the stairs, no doubt assisting some fine gentleman in his quest to find a woman that would be happy to accommodate his interest in ankles, or shoulders, or whatever it was this week. Huck doesn’t keep up. She sees that all too familiar thousand yard stare in his eyes and when he fails to notice her even as she approaches she figures she’s doing him a favor by breaking his reverie. 

    “If you’re thinking about escaping the preacher boy, I already told him he had to swing by tonight. They’re riding off at dawn tomorrow and I know the hours you keep aren’t friendly to the sunrise, son.” Huck blinks away the haze and answers, 

    “I didn’t realize that you were going into the psychic business. Should I switch our order of rum to snakes? You need me to get you a turban or somethin’?” Huck quips back trying to cover up the oncoming wave of panic by trying to look busy, but he has the feeling he just looks like he’s having a mental episode. 

   “Matchmaking more like it.” The response makes him stop dead in his tracks. He somehow manages to stop the tub of glasses he’s carrying from crashing to the floor and deposits them carefully on the counter. His head, which had been loud all day, is suddenly silent. 

    Huck Finn had only felt true terror twice in his life. The first time is when his father took an ember kissed fire poker to his skin, burning scars into his ribs screaming he’d rip his insides out one by one. The second is the first night he ran away from civilization and realized that for the first time in his life, he was truly, utterly alone. This, makes it as the third time. 

    “It’s fine, son.” He isn’t comforted by the use of the affectionate term. “I don’t mean anything by it.” She takes a seat on an old bar stool and throws a hand out to hold Huck’s shaking hand.  “I saw y’all the night he came into town. For someone to draw you to show more than the three default emotions I’ve seen from you…” She gives his hand a squeeze, “It just that he must be pretty special.” She raises her empty hand to silence the man as she can tell he wants to speak. “I won’t ask. But you owe this to yourself to settle whatever it is. Take it from me, the ‘what ifs’ are always worse than that the ‘I wish I hadnt’s’.”  The atmosphere around Huck is still tense as his fears are dissipated, but still have trouble completely leaving his body. He gives a small laugh to banish them and says,

    “I gotta say Kat. I didn’t know there was such a romantic underneath that cold prostitute exterior. I guess everyone has their secrets.” He smirks as he says it, in a mock tone of seriousness. Kat, realizing that the moment is gone, shoves him from her stop across the bar.

    “Love is blah, blah, blah, yip yap, whatever. Now get back to work! Is that better for ya’? I wouldn’t want you to get any ideas about me having feelings, you hear?” She tells him waving her finger in a cheap imitation of a deranged school teacher. 

    “I don’t know if I can ever take you seriously now knowing that you’re nothin’ more that an old fashioned bleedin’ heart.” Huck responds in a tone that even then, is called  _ sarcasm.  _

    “For your better livin’ you had better forget this conversation.” Kat says as the final words as she walks backwards to the door. Huck puts his hands up mock surrender, knowing better than to argue. Kat believed in him, even if Huck had nothing but doubt. And he supposes, that if everything falls apart he can always reference the Madam’s softer side and expect a quick and painless death. Therefore, as Thomas Sawyer walked in the door as the early hours of the morning started to ring in the new day, Huck Finn didn’t flinch away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is the one that has the mature stuff in it fyi


	6. Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is again from grasscam on tumblr, this time for introducing me to pierolgies. This chapter also has mature times in it but honestly its so freakin prose-y because im nothing but a fucking softie and a huge ole romantic.

    Huck was never very good at small talk. He didn’t know why he thought he would get better at is as he aged. Maybe it’s the fact that all the adults at the time just seem to be  _ so good  _ at talking about things like the weather, or their neighbors, or the slave trade, or anything besides what they actually wanted to talk about. But as he sits in front of Tom Sawyer in an old run down saloon in the decrepit town of Lowman, Wyoming he wishes that he was a tiny bit better at discussing trivial things. So far they had managed to kill time by talking discreetly about Tom’s journey out here, Tom carefully never asking about Huck’s own, and Huck carefully never asking Tom about his religious affiliations. But one can only talk about the effects of tuberculosis on the nun population in Kansas City for so long before both parties start to realise that the bush they have been beating around has been reduced to a weed. 

    “I thought I might have scared you off with my incredible ability to be an idiot.” Tom says taking a slow sip from his glass, water of course, trying to shoo the awkwardness from the room. It does bring a small smile to Huck’s lips but the fact that they are  _ not  _ here to discuss Tom’s character lingers heavily in the back of his mind.

   “Becoming self aware are we?” He retorts in attempt to keep the light mood going.

   “It’s as surprising to you as it is to me. Apparently, honesty in one's mistakes is kind of the focal point of religion.” He laughs as he says this, taking a strange comfort in being able to joke around with Christianity without having someone yell at him about ‘tainting the good Lord’s image’ or ‘being an icon of repentance’. 

   “If my memory serves me correct, you must have had to do a lot of repenting then. I mean, third year alone you must have been misbehaving thirteen times a day.” He knocks Tom’s  shoulder with his own playfully. “That’s got to add up.”

   “Not as much time as one would think.” Tom says rubbing his hands against his thighs in a nervous fashion that is strange to Huck. “God forgives you instantaneously. As soon as you admit you are of fault - you no longer have any.” He pauses awkwardly. “The hard part is learning to forgive yourself.” 

   “Based on the last time I saw you, you didn’t really seem to care about your actions.” Huck bites back at Tom. He tries to hide the malice in his words, not wanting to ruin the fragile and delicate comradery they have built up but the  _ pain _ comes through so strongly he can’t help make them sting. That pain has managed to seem into his entire vocabulary, he could separate the two even if he wanted to.”

   “I know,” Tom tell Huck, turning to look at him cautiously. The explicit confession makes Huck falter as he fully takes in the Tom Sawyer in front of him. He looks the same with his light hair curling around his ears from going without a cut for too long and his cheeks dusted with freckles, but there is something alien about his once best friend. This new, he almost doesn’t want to say it, but… adultness to him. Tom continues speaking, “ needing to be forgiven is why I got into the church.”

   “Damn, Tom. You’ve done some questionable things, but what could you have possibly done that required you to dedicate yourself to the church in order to be forgiven?” If Tom needed to become a pastor in order to atone for all the schoolyard hijinks that they got up to… well, then Huck has never been more certain in his entire life that there truly was no redemption for him. His mind brought up old memories, making them fresh in his mind as he lamented over those who had… gotten in his way, as we was making his way west. 

   “As I learned, through no small feat, is that your initial thoughts are not who you are.” Tom responds, skirting around Huck’s question in a perfected mannar. “It’s how you change them the defines you as a person. What comes to my mind first is what I have been taught, but what I correct that to - is who I am as a person.” 

    Huck tries to pull Tom’s words apart; to see what he means beneath them. The way he’s looking at Huck, this serious face - gone pale by his confession, shows that there is something he’s trying to say but just can’t quite get out right now. But Huck is coming up short as he think over what Tom could possibly have to change his thoughts about-

Oh. 

That’s right.

_ Dissociation _ is a word that has yet to be defined by the french philosopher Pierre Janet and popularized in Boston during 1890 to 1910 but out in Wyoming Huck Finn was feeling the effects of the word. 

    A memory pushes on the edge of Huck’s mind right now, but too many parts have been compartmentalized and written over for Huck’s personal gain in order make the whole picture clear in Huck’s mind. Funny how such a pivotal day in Huck’s existence has almost faded away by repression and denial. All that comes to him now, comes in flashes, like lightning before his eyes. 

_ Him and Tom side by side.  _

_ Tom’s laughs. Eyes meet. Lips meet.  _

_ Huck finally being able to identify the emotion love.  _

_ Hands shove his chest back. Hard. _

_ Tom’s eyes looking at him in terror and a single word piercing unspoken through the autumnal air. _

**_Run_ ** _.  _

    “Do you,” Huck starts, unable to believe the words he's about to say, “forgive me? For that?” Tom looks at him and reaches out to grasp Huck’s hand in his own.

   “I’ve more than forgiven you.” Tom say sincerely. Then, as if he hadn’t quite decided if he wanted to say the words before they left his mouth. “I’ve become just like you.” Huck jerks away. Standing up and letting his stool topple to the ground as he puts space between himself and those words. 

   “You can’t just say things like that.” Huck says, absolutely livid at the fact Tom would even  _ think _ about something like that. 

   “You can if you mean them!” Tom retorts shooting up to meet Huck face to face. Huck looks at him with nothing but speculation and confusion on his face as he asks,

   “What does that mean?” Tom visibly swallows but his eyes never waver from Huck’s face as he responds,

   “It means if you kissed me again, I wouldn’t mind.” 

Well.

That’s not what Huck was expecting. 

That’s not what Huck was expecting  _ at all. _

So Huck just stands there. Absolutely still. Unable to move. Displaying what computer programmers call a  _ 404 error. The function called reciprocal love can not be recalled.  _

   “I have to do everything myself, don’t I.” The sentence wakes Huck enough to begin pushing thoughts into his brain but before he can get any out, Tom is curling his hands in Huck’s hair. Then he’s bringing his face up to meet Huck’s. Then he’s leaning forward.

Then, for the first time in years, he’s kissing Tom Sawyer. 

  Huck knows how to kiss Tom Sawyer. So that’s what he does. His hands fall to Tom’s waist, grabbing what fabric he can and pulling him as close a possible. Anything not to feel so far from the person he’s in love with. Tom lets out a slight gasp at the motion and Huck takes the chance to pull on Tom’s lower lip with his own. They pull apart and Tom’s hands drop to cradling Huck’s face, causing Huck’s hair to cascade in front of his face. He runs a hand back through it, partly to get it out of his face and partly to give him time to clear his nerves. When he looks back to Tom’s he sees the first real genuine smile sprawling across his face, and has to most esteemed pleasure of leaning down and kissing that smile. 

   “God.” Tom pants out softly as Huck presses closer, causing Tom’s back to dig into the bar behind him. Huck slides his hands down to Tom’s lower back and pulls them closer together. He knows at this distance their conversation can be mistaken for nothing but intimate if anyone were to walk in and see them, but he’s waited seven years and a man's patience can only go so far. 

    “I thought you should spend enough time in the Lord’s presence to realise I am the farthest thing from Him.” Huck taunts, dragging his hands slowly down the other's body; squeezing at Tom’s thighs, enjoying every moment of speechlessness he draws from the other. “I was so alone out here. I can't tell you Sawyer how many hot nights I lay awake in my bed as thoughts of you kept me company.” 

    Huck guides his hands even further down and draws a low whine from the back of Tom’s throat as he slowly and painstakingly begins to palm at the erection that Tom knows shouldn’t be growing. However, Huck's words are like the air, hot and heavy, and they curl themselves around Tom’s abdomen and squeeze. 

    “I hear the noises coming from the other rooms as men and women screamed in pleasure. Night to day all I could see was men getting dragged off to plant themselves between some ladies thighs for half an hour. But all I could think of was a man I had left as just a boy.” He stops for a moment and looks over Tom’s slowly fading facade. He looks into Tom’s gunmetal blue eyes as if trying to see the internal turmoil that was no doubt going over in the others head. “And all the things I regret.” 

   Huck Finn’s hands had done a lot of things over the course of the twenty years he has roamed this Earth. But as his calloused palms touched the brown leather of Tom’s belt and began to un-do it, Huck thought this just might be the most important thing they’d ever done for him. He slowly unbuckles it, purposefully leaving plenty of time for Tom to object to any of his advancements. But Tom, fully aware of the situation at hand, lets him progress. 

    It speaks measure in Tom’s brain, how quickly he is to denounce his God, his religion, his whole livelihood for Christ’s sake, in favour of such a blasphemous act. He can’t even start to imagine what would happen if the elders who had once proclaimed him a pious and upright man of God in front of a whole congregation saw him now. He hoped God himself had looked away from this moment so that it might be just him and Huck, as it used to be. 

    All thoughts of the church were removed from his mind as Huck’s hands started to curl dangerously over the edge of his pants, carefully gripping the fabric and pulling it down as if they were practiced lovers. And Tom supposes in a way they were. He closes his eyes tightly and tries in vain to regulate his breathing.

    “ _ I recognize my faults; I am always conscious of my sins. I have sinned against You—only against You—and done what you consider evil _ .” The prayer spills through Tom’s head uncontrollably. It's barely a whisper through the synapses of his brain. He can feel his heart fluttering in his chest, at such a pace you would think it wasn’t beating at all. He looks up and sees Huck, not inches from his face, looking at him with a hunger in his eyes. It’s the same look he sees in himself when the devil comes to tests his vows of celibacy. He’s seen it too many times in his own eyes not to know what it means. What will happen if he consents. So he asks,

   “And what do you regret?” The words come out choked and far to ragged for Tom’s liking. They haven't done anything yet. They  _ won’t  _ do anything. They can’t. Not if Tom wants to keep on working with a clear conscious. Yet here he is, on the cusp of losing all he’s vowed to protect, and says nothing. 

    “Oh a great many things.” Huck responds, his gaze not wavering from Tom’s eyes. “Not saying goodbye to your aunt, taking advantage of everyone who helped me get here, letting my father lay a hand on me.” He leans in to whisper into the shell of Tom’s ear. “Not staying to love you when I had the chance.” 

     And with that final claim Huck Finn slips his hand down into Tom’s pants and touches him like they were old lovers. Which Tom supposes… they are. 

    Tom grasps the edge of the bar with a strength unknown to him as Huck slowly starts moving his fingers up and down Tom’s length.  The motion stings lightly leaving Tom gasping air between his teeth. It’s a burning sensation that’s not unlike setting fire to his abdomen. Its warm and uncontrollable. The world hasn’t created a guide for what they’re doing yet - even though it's been done a thousand times before in a thousand different ways. And right now Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn and creating the thousandth and first way. 

      “ _ So you are right in judging me; you are justified in condemning me. I have been evil from the day I was born; from the time I was conceived, I have been sinful. _ ” The words come out of Tom’s mouth before he can stop them. A hand comes up reflexively to cover his mouth, as if he could pull the words out of the air and put them back into his subconscious. He meant nothing by it, the prayer that is, he lowered his hand and started to think of how to explain that praying had become a reflex when Tom got to overwhelmed by any emotion, good or bad. Before he could get the words out, Huck just pulled a laugh from the back of his throat, which only increased the amount of blood that was currently settling in Tom’s lower half, and said, 

    “I’d rather not talk about God right now if it’s all the same to you. I don’t think he would be highly appreciative of what I’m doing right now.” Huck then leaned forward and placed an open mouth kiss to the junction under Tom’s jaw. 

    And that right there is what caused Tom to let out an outrageously promiscuous moan. Huck pulled back out of surprise and looked at Tom with eyebrows raised. He was not aware such shameless lustfulness was capable of coming from a pastor. Tom released both of his hands from the bar and intertwined his fingers with the fabric on the front of Huck’s shirt, using it to pull Huck foreword to issue the threat, 

   “Don't you dare stop Finn or so help my God.” Huck gets the message in Tom’s lust filled rage because he immediately slots a thigh between Tom’s legs in attempts to satisfy both of their growing bulges and sets himself the task of pressing hard kisses into the soft flesh of Tom’s neck. 

    With shaking hands Tom manages to get a hold on Huck’s shoulders, helpless to the lust running through his body. His head is full of hot cotton, all of his thoughts stuck in the white cloud and all that he knows is that this is good. It is so fucking good. He grinds down into Huck’s thigh desperate for any sort of friction. Huck smirks against Tom’s neck at the action, clearly enjoying unraveling Tom’s pastoral facade. He kisses his way down Tom’s exposed throat raking his teeth over Tom’s Adam’s apple as he covers Tom’s usually carefully covered neck.

    “They give you boys such high collars. Hopefully their intention is innocent.” Huck teases, playfully pulling slightly at Tom’s dust coloured hair. Huck pulls away from wreaking havoc on Tom’s no longer white skin, and Tom isn’t sure whether to cry from the loss of pleasure shooting through his veins or be grateful he won’t have too much of a scandal to cover up in the morning. Tom replies with a hollow laugh as he manages to get out,

    “No, I think you’re right,” he says, breathlessly, “clerical collars were definitely made to cover up sexual escapades.” He hated how Huck can simply set his hands on his body and Tom would unravel at the seams for him. He hated how Huck had left him those years ago without so much as a goodbye. He hated how quickly he had turned away from the church. He hated how easily he had let himself convince himself that this could never be an act of love.  

     “Well, it's a good thing I fell in love with a priest then.” Tom swear he saw the devil in the grin Huck gave him. But if the devil could make him feel this good than God could surely understand his fall from grace. “Why are you giving me that face Finn.” Huck just gave him a condensing, 

      “You’ll see.” Huck removed himself from Tom’s appendages, which had woven like steel around his back, and began to shuffle through the drawers below the counter. Tom sighed out a heartbroken breath of air at the loss of contact. It almost made Huck go back and finish what he started, devoid of the bottle that had been pressed into his hand by Madam Kat earlier this week with a wink and a knowing smile. 

One hand was holding Tom flush against his chest, his head pressed tight into the nape of Huck’s neck as his arms grasped at Huck’s back holding him tightly, while the other slowly pressed a finger into Thomas Sawyer. 

    It's a weird indescribable feeling one that is all too strange to comprehend but so intimate your body can't help but absorb every moment of it. Tom wouldn’t be able to describe the feeling of sudden calamity he felt in that moment except in retrospect of when the old preachers say they had found God in their lives. It was all at once absolutely heart pounding exhilarating and totally peaceful. 

    Tom wouldn’t know if he could describe his partners work as ‘skilled’ because he hasn't a clue how many people Huck had done this with, but to someone who has bottled up about ten years worth of sexual tension, Huck might as well be the most qualified person in the nation. Huck, had not bedded anybody on his time on this Earth, but had simply learned how to read people backwards and forwards; and Thomas Sawyer was one of those people who he could read even if he was written in Greek. He presses his lips slowly to Tom’s and their lips slot together loosely before Tom grabs Huck by the jaw and pulls him forward demanding more. Huck slams forward suddenly, one hand shooting out to stabilize himself on the bar to the side of Tom’s panting form. Huck pulls at Tom’s lower lip with his teeth smiling into Tom’s kisses. Satisfaction settles over his mind as finally he sees the meaning in Tom’s actions; Tom wants him. He isn’t just doing this to further some repressed teenage angst or as a one time fuck. The thought of reciprocated love for once in his goddamn life has him shuddering and peppering Tom’s lips with breathy, desperate kisses. He wraps his arms around Tom’s back and just hold him tightly.

    Huck wants to remember this image the next time Madam Kat tell him he’s going up against a eighteen hour shift keeping rowdy miners playing nice. When the nights seem to stretch on for ages and Deputy Ellis doesn’t want to go home to his wife and kids. When the mistresses take the men of the town up the stairs to those faux velvet beds he wants to have the last laugh because he'll forever have the image of Tom Sawyer spread out right here.

He doesn’t realize he’s coming until he’s already careening over the precipice. His head tosses forward onto Tom’s shoulder as his consciousness is obliterated. The silence rings around them as Huck slowly shifts his weight back onto his own body and providing a towel he’ll quietly discard later to erase the evidence of their encounter. He expects Tom to break the silence first, as the boy has never been one to hold back words. But as the seconds tick by and none come from the other man, Huck feels compelled to shatter the stiffening silence around them.

    “I guess five years late is better than never.” Huck says. He doesn’t mean it to come out so nonchalant, he wants Tom to know that he  _ means  _ this, but words are so  _ goddamn hard. _ “Though I do apologize for any damnation I might have caused you. I’m sure you can repent or-”

    “It wasn’t like that.” Tom says, cutting him off. “I mean, when you left, that is. I wanted you then.” He reaches out and tucks a dark brown strand of hair that had fallen in front of Huck’s face behind his ear. “And I mean I want you now… obviously.” This is not the answer Huck Finn was preparing to receive.

     “Why?” It escapes his mouth before he can stop it .

     “Why do I love you?” Tom clarifies, seeing through Huck deceptive speech. It was proof that somewhere, under all that black formal wear, still lived the manipulative little shit that was Tom Sawyer. “I asked God who creates everything on this Earth; who made the stars in the sky and the fish in the sea, why He creates this powerful of love if it’s a sin? The bible says that this,” he gestures between himself and Huck, “is a sin but in the next line it tells us that love is our most powerful weapon against sin.” He clears his throat and in his best impression of Pastor Bens preaches, “First Peter, chapter four line eight.  Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins." He lets out a sigh and looks a Huck with tiredness leaking from his eyes.  “I’ve made my peace with who I loved a long time ago.” He sighs again and tangles his fingers gently into the hairs at the base of Huck’s neck. “I’ve never told a single soul this but the reason I joined the church was in a desperate attempt to clear those-” he takes a moment to select the right word, “thoughts, from my head. God was punishing me in some way and I was sure that if I joined the church he would forgive me for whatever I had done. That’s how it's supposed to work right?” He gives Huck a look as if Huck, who hasn’t been to church is almost a decade, is supposed to know, “I guess in a way I got my wish. I’ve found peace.” Tom gently caresses Huck’s cheek with his thumb. “Have you?”

   Huck knows what Tom means. He’s always known what Tom means, but how he wishes those words could just be what they are because Huck feels utterly helpless against them. The familiar feeling of complete and utter doubt that he swam in all throughout his childhood is building up inside his lungs and choking any sort of answer to that question. Has he? Has he made made peace with his past? Tom Sawyer is the manifestation of everything he has been trying to run away from for the past five years and here he is asking if he can be a part of his life again. 

   Huck is silent. He looks only at the floor because he can’t bring himself to look Tom in the eye. Not during what he’s about to do. Tom’s grip on his hands loosens, preparing to relive the same scene that transgressed all those years ago, but then Huck speaks,

    “Stay.” The words are whispered so quietly Tom almost misses them. 

    “What?” He asks. His brain can't seem to comprehend or begin to even grapple what Huck is implying with those words.

    “Don't pretend you didn't hear me.” Huck tell him, keeping his eyes down cast. Hoping that maybe the floor will provide him with the words he needs. “Stay Sawyer. Here.” 

    “What about-” Huck silences by pressing his mouth to Tom’s; pulling out all the words that were to follow that question. They part and Huck continues,

    “Worry about the church and your people and what others will think later Tom. You were impulsive once.” Huck leans his forehead against Tom’s and breathes out a sigh into Tom's mouth. “Remember what it was like to live without caring about what others thought.” Then the words come to Huck. The ones he’s been looking for all this time but haven’t been able to find. He takes a deep breath and steadied his voice. “I had to walked away from you once, and I don’t want to do it again.” Huck knows that he could. Huck could absolutely watch Tom Sawyer leave once more and live on to tell the tale, but that’s a choice that others made for him and he’s hated it ever since. He didn’t get to choose what gender his lover came in but he will not let anyone else choose the person he gets to love, and Huck has irrevocably and intentionally chosen to love Tom Sawyer for the rest of his time on this shit faced Earth. So that’s what he’s going to do. Tom takes this in for a moment, then speaks quietly, reciting something he learned long ago, 

    “ Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life."

    The word’s were God’s and not Thomas’s own but nothing he could say would ever be able to encompasses his feeling better than that. So, as the sunlight cuts over the dirt plane, shedding the light of the twenty eighth day of the month, marks the first day of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, both formerly of Missouri, knowing that, for the first time in a long while, they’re going to be together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! Hopefully you had a good time! Theres going to be a little oneshot in this series after this which I actually wrote FIRST and then had to write this story as a backdrop to it. Thanks for hangin around though this entire story, it honestly is nice to know that im NOT just shouting out into the void. Everyone who reads this encourages me to keep writing. Sorry it took eight months to get this out but sometimes that’s life. I’m probably going to start on a high school modern au next if ya guys wanna stick around and watch that happen or i also have some #major character death stuff if ya like to suffer.


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